


Looking for a Reason

by pterawaters



Category: Glee
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Coffee Shops, Future Fic, M/M, Prostitution, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterawaters/pseuds/pterawaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years after graduation, Puck's living in NYC, still working on his screenplay and playing "assistant" to stage writer/producer Sandy Ryerson. Puck didn't even know Kurt was in town, much less working as a barista in Puck's favorite cafe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking for a Reason

Puck shifts his laptop bag so the strap doesn't dig so far into his shoulder and pushes open the coffee shop door. It's mid afternoon and the line is only two people long, so as long as no one takes the choice table in the corner, it's all good.

Puck looks down from the menu when it's his turn to order, but stops with his mouth open. The barista taking orders is none other than Kurt Hummel. Only the Kurt Hummel from graduation looks nothing like the Kurt Hummel waiting to take Puck's order. This Kurt is older, leaner, and about a million times hotter than the boy Puck graduated with.

"Oh, my god, Puck? Noah Puckerman?" Kurt asks, leaning on the counter and lifting himself up a little to get closer, like that'll improve his view.

It takes Puck a moment to find his words (which is bullshit, because he's all about words these days), but when he finally says something, it comes out all wrong. "No. I mean, what? I mean, yeah. That's me. Hey, Kurt."

"You're looking..." Kurt pauses and his smile falters a little. Oh, god. It's the sympathy look. Puck can't deal with the sympathy look coming from Kurt Hummel. "Good!" Kurt says it with enthusiasm, so Puck knows he's lying. But Puck won't call him on it. He never calls people out on their lies anymore. It's too exhausting.

"You, too," Puck says. Puck is not lying. Kurt looks amazing, even behind the counter and wearing a bright green apron. He looks healthy and happy. Someone must be treating him right. 

"Since when have you been working here?" Puck asks, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one is waiting for him to order. 

"Oh, just about a week." Kurt gestures to the shop around them. "It's glamorous, I know. But, my school internship ended when I graduated and grad school doesn't start until fall, so I'm making a little money over the summer. How about you? Last I heard you were taking some classes at Lima and writing a screenplay. What are you doing in the Big Apple?" "Uh," Puck says, wondering how he's been in the city for almost two years and still has problems coming up with his cover story when he's asked. Mostly people just assume shit about Puck and don't bother asking him things. "Well, my screenwriting prof. wrote _Pink Dagger_ and he brought me here as his assistant."

"You work for creepy Mr. Ryerson?" Kurt asks, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "The things he said to me in high school! I've been boycotting his musical completely. You couldn't pay me enough to work for a man like that. How do you do it?"

Puck bites back the, "On my knees, mostly," truth of the situation. "He's not that bad." Since coming to New York, Puck hasn't had to pay for rent or food and he gets a hefty paycheck every month that, for the most part, goes into a steadily-growing savings account. Once Puck saves up enough money, once he finally fucking finishes a screenplay, once he figures out his life, then he'll leave. "He's helping me with my screenplay." Puck pats his laptop bag for emphasis.

Kurt nods and Puck can practically see him doing the math. It's been four years since they graduated. Three and a half since Puck decided screenwriting was where he wanted to focus his career efforts. If he hasn't finished one script by now, it's probably never going to happen. "Well, that's … nice of him."

"Yeah, well. I'm pretty sure he's jerkin' me around so I don't leave. The last suggestion he gave me?" Puck pauses for effect and the chime behind him tinkles as someone comes in the door. "To rewrite it with a cast of woodland creatures. Like squirrels and shit. I kid you not."

Kurt laughs and his eyes flick to the woman behind Puck. He steps back behind his cash register and asks, "So, what can I get you?"

Puck gives Kurt his order and moves on with a little exchange of, "See ya later." When Puck takes his cup from the girl making the drinks, he sees that Kurt's written his phone number on the sleeve. It's still got the Lima area code, so Puck's guessing it's the same number that's been sitting unused in his phone for the past four years.

Puck takes his coffee and heads for the shop across the street and down a block. The tables aren't as nice, but at least he won't have well-meaning high school acquaintances coming by asking questions about his life.

Puck's pretty sure Kurt never heard about the, "Ten-buck Puck," phase he'd had freshman and sophomore year, since he's never mentioned it. But hell, Puck had thought Finn hadn't known either, until the night sophomore year of college when Finn broke up with his girlfriend, got blind stinking drunk, and offered Puck twenty bucks. Finn had taken the offer back the second he'd seen the look in Puck's eyes, but their relationship turned more than a little sour after that.

Ryerson had been one of Puck's ten buck customers back in the day, and when he offered Puck this job, Puck figured what the hell. If even Finn couldn't let go of the fact that Puck used to be a whore, Puck might as well live up to the reputation.

It was easy to slip back into, even. All Puck has to do was turn off his brain and let his body do the rest. And Ryerson wasn't a bad man. He was just awkward and lonely and more in the (transparent) closet than out. As long as Puck keeps Sandy reasonably satisfied, and cuddles him at night, Puck keeps getting to live in an awesome (if a little china doll infested) apartment in an awesome city, with money just waiting for Puck to man up and do something with it.

The only problem is that Puck's job makes it difficult for Puck to form friendships. He can't bring people back to his place to shoot the shit or game or whatever, and he mostly has free time when everyone else is working.

Puck had told Kurt that he was Sandy's assistant. That's not true. His assistant at the theater is a girl named Wendy. At the theater, Puck is Sandy's student/part-time intern. Puck gets coffee and listens to deals being made and keeps his boss supplied with pens and paperclips, for ten hours a week. The rest of the time Puck fucks off and tries to write his own shit.

When Sandy has people over to the house, Puck either has to hide in the bedroom like a ratty old pair of slippers Sandy doesn't want his guests to see, or Puck has to go out. Usually Puck elects to go out. He goes and eats in strange restaurants or checks out music stores or goes dancing and grinds with someone Puck knows would sleep with him, if it were free. Too bad for them, as long as he's living with Sandy, Puck's not free. 

He loses Kurt's number when he tosses out his cup. On the up side, he gets five pages of his screenplay written, no woodland creatures involved.

Two weeks later, it's the middle of June and Puck is dying of the muggy heat and wishing he was still cleaning pools instead of having to wear business clothes and run down to the Jamba Juice at the end of the block every hour to get Sandy (and Wendy and Seth, the director, and most of the producers) a new iced smoothie every hour and a half. 

If Puck really was an unpaid intern, he would have quit so many times by now. This is barely worth the four thousand a month he _is_ getting paid. He'd rather suck a dick for free every day of his life than run another fucking trip to Jamba fucking Juice.

Puck's waiting for the chick behind the counter to finish his order when his phone rings. Thinking it's a last-minute order change from Sandy, Puck answers it without looking. "I swear to god, if you tell me you want blueberry instead of mango fucking breeze, I won't ever do that thing you like, ever again." There's about five really fucked up, but harmless, things that Sandy likes which Puck can withhold from him. He'll pick one when he's not so pissed off. Maybe the baby bonnet. That always creeps Puck out the worst.

"No, Puck. It's me. It's Kurt, Kurt Hummel!" The guy sounds entirely too enthusiastic. His coffee shop is probably as aggressively air conditioned as Sandy's apartment.

"Oh, hey, Kurt." Puck says, moving up to take his turn ordering. "Hold on a sec."

After placing his order, Puck goes to wait for it and says into his phone, "So, uh, what's up?"

"You're working? Maybe I shouldn't have called." Kurt sounds like he's being polite, not like he's overly concerned with interrupting Puck's day. He doesn't even give Puck the chance to respond before speaking again. "Oh, well. I just wanted to know if you'd like to grab lunch or something someday soon. I find most of my friends have either left the city for the summer, or left indefinitely, so I have a surplus of time on my hands."

"Uh," Puck replies as his mind digests the words. "No, yeah. That sounds cool." It's not like Puck has any friends either. "I could do, like tomorrow?" Puck thinks the next day should work. Puck's not scheduled to "intern" and Sandy will be busy at the theater all day.

"Tomorrow's perfect. I don't work until 5."

They decide on a place and time to meet all before Puck's orders ready and Puck leaves Jamba Juice feeling inexplicably lighter.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't plan on adding any more to this fic, so if the ending is too ambiguous for you, please feel free to pick up the story where I left off.


End file.
